Saint and Sinner
by SherlockianWhovian
Summary: When Sherlock is asked to consult on a new murder case, he discovers that his brother isn't the saint that he always pretends to be...
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Here's a brand new story for the New Year! Leave me a review to let me know what you think so far! =]**_

* * *

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked, worry in his tone as he watched his flatmate curiously.

Sherlock had been examining a crime scene, a murdered woman sprawled out on the floor with blood everywhere, when he'd just stopped.

"Yes. Fine." Sherlock replied as he got to his feet, "Do excuse me, John, Lestrade. There's somewhere I need to be."

"What? Where are you going?" Lestrade demanded as Sherlock ducked under the police tape.

"Sherlock?" John called, following his flatmate down the stairs of the house and out into the street.

"I'll be back later. Don't wait up." Sherlock replied over his shoulder as he climbed into a cab.

John sighed as he watched the cab drive away down the street.

* * *

"Enjoying your new case?" Mycroft asked as he read The Times in the Diogenes Club. He knew Sherlock was in the doorway, so there was no need to look up.

"Enjoying your last day of freedom?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, moving silently across the room.

"What on earth do you mean?" Mycroft asked, putting his paper aside.

"The case. The woman that was murdered. It has your fingerprints all over it." Sherlock hissed, sitting down opposite his brother.

"Sherlock, you are quite mistaken-" Mycroft began.

"Don't lie to me!" Sherlock shouted, slamming down a silver tie-pin onto the table beside them, "Who was she? Did she deserve to be gutted like a fish?"

Mycroft sighed and picked up the tie-pin before he placed it in his suit jacket's pocket, "I don't know. I picked her at random." he replied.

"Why?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

"You were bored. I had to act before you fell back into your old ways." Mycroft replied.

"So your solution was to kill a woman with your own bare hands? You didn't even send someone else to do it?" Sherlock asked.

"Her Majesty's resources can't be used for personal crimes." Mycroft said with a slight chuckle.

"Do you think that this is amusing? I now have a case where you are the murderer, so what information can I possibly give to the police?" Sherlock demanded.

"It is rather amusing. I had hoped that it would take you longer to find out that it was me. It's alright though, I have a long list of men that you can tie this to." Mycroft replied, pulling out a notebook from his pocket.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Sherlock hissed, "You've murdered a woman and now you're asking me not only to lie about it, but to pin it to someone else?"

"I don't think that's unreasonable. I've tidied up your messes in the past." Mycroft replied, his tone beginning to cool.

"I didn't murder someone!" Sherlock shouted, getting to his feet, "I'm going home and then we are going to sort this out tomorrow."

"Very well. Give my regards to John." Mycroft replied, picking up his paper again.

"You promised me that you would stop. After you joined the Secret Service, you promised me that you wouldn't need to kill again." Sherlock sighed, speaking softly as he walked to the door.

"Things have changed, brother dear." Mycroft responded calmly, continuing to read the article he'd put to one side during Sherlock's visit.

* * *

"Something's wrong. I'm not stupid." John said with a frown, watching as Sherlock stared at the yellow smiley face on the wall. His flatmate had been silent since his return from wherever he'd been.

Sherlock sighed and turned to face John, "What I tell you can't leave this room. It is corruption of the highest level." he said.

"Tell me what's going on. It's not like we don't normally know about secret government business." John replied, watching him.

"It's Mycroft. He's the killer." Sherlock said softly, watching John closely to see what his reaction would be.

"Mycroft? Mycroft killed that woman?" John repeated.

"Yes, John. I went to see him after I found one of his tie-pins under the body." Sherlock explained.

"One of his tie-pins? Surely lots of people have tie-pins similar to the ones that Mycroft wears?" John asked.

"No. His tie-pins are specially made for him, as are all his pieces of clothing." Sherlock replied, "I went to see him and he admitted it, John."

"He confessed to the murder?" John gasped.

"Yes, and that's not even the worst part." Sherlock muttered, "His motive was that I was bored. He killed that woman so I'd have something to do."

John looked completely shocked, "So what do we do?" he asked.

"I don't know, John." Sherlock sighed, "I don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Here's another chapter, although it's a little shorter than the first. Please review! =]**_

* * *

Sherlock and John strolled into the Diogenes as the club's grandfather clock struck 9 o'clock. Without stopping to sign in at the desk, Sherlock led the way through the corridors of patterned carpet and mahogany paneling to Mycroft's office.

"Am I getting predictable, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, looking up and turning to face them a little.

"You've always been predictable." Sherlock replied, moving to stand opposite his brother.

"John." Mycroft greeted, although he didn't offer a smile.

"Mycroft." John replied with a nod.

"We're here to take your statement." Sherlock said, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

"My statement? You must realize that I won't be telling you anything on record?" Mycroft replied with a raised eyebrow.

"We won't be recording you, but we do want to ask you a few questions." John said as he sat down beside Sherlock.

"Go ahead. Ask your questions." Mycroft said with a slight smirk, amused by their actions.

"Have you killed before?" John asked, clearing his throat a little as Mycroft's gaze made him feel nervous.

"With my own hands or ordered a kill?" Mycroft asked.

"Erm...both, I guess?" John replied, looking at the older Holmes brother.

"Then yes. I've killed before. Many times." Mycroft answered, looking John over.

"We're focusing on people that you've killed with your own hands." Sherlock admitted, watching his brother.

"In that case... A couple of dozen or so." Mycroft replied, putting on an act of counting in his head that he knew would disturb John.

"So, in excess of 24 people?" John clarified with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, my brother was rather obsessed with his little hobby." Sherlock muttered with a sigh.

"If I hadn't indulged in my hobby, you wouldn't have become a detective." Mycroft pointed out.

"Should I thank you for killing all of those people, brother?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"Probably. I did you a favour, you know." Mycroft replied.

"You left all of that behind you. Why go back to it?" Sherlock asked.

"Why not? I'm getting older, I think that it's time to indulge in my hobbies again." Mycroft replied, "It's very enjoyable, you know."

"Killing innocent people is not a hobby!" John exclaimed, frustrated by the two brothers' cold behaviour.

"Who said anything about innocent people?" Mycroft said with a raised eyebrow, "I prefer to go after those with a guilty conscience."

"And the girl? Was she guilty?" John asked.

"I never got to find out." Mycroft said with a wistful smile, "It's refreshing to sometimes be unpredictable. To stray from the path, as such."

"I think you strayed from the path some time ago." Sherlock replied with a sigh.

* * *

"Has he always been so cold?" John asked as they sat together in 221B some hours later.

"We're both different. We have our quirks." Sherlock replied with a sigh, "I explore types of tobacco ash while Mycroft explores people."

"I always thought that he was more social than you, but I'm beginning to doubt that now." John admitted.

"Mycroft likes people, but he sees them as experiments. He pushes and pushes until he finds their weakness. When he does find their weakness, he becomes bored." Sherlock replied with a sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

"Have you got anything for us on that case yet?" Lestrade asked as he stood in the doorway of 221B.

"Which case?" Sherlock asked without looking up from a large hardback book that he'd been reading.

Lestrade rolled his eyes in frustration, "The murder case. The woman that was killed." he said with a frown.

"Oh. That." Sherlock replied casually, "It slipped my mind. I'll look into it again when I have some free time."

"Free time?" Lestrade shouted, "A woman has been murdered and I need your help! I can't just wait around for you to stop reading your books!"

"I'm sorry Geoff, but I'm currently working on a case that is more interesting to me." Sherlock replied, finally looking up.

"It's Greg!" Lestrade shouted, "Fine, we'll do this without your help."

"Lestrade, is everything alright?" John asked, walking up the stairs behind the Detective Inspector.

"Sherlock has decided that he's no longer interested in finding the killer of that poor woman." Lestrade said in frustration, darting down the stairs once John had reached the landing, "Sociopath." he added in a mutter.

John watched Greg walk away down the stairs and waited for the front door to slam shut before he entered the living room.

"He's not going to drop it." John sighed.

"I know. I just need to stall him so we can work out what we're going to do." Sherlock replied, getting to his feet and pacing.

"What _we're_ going to do?" John asked, "I don't know what you're going to do but I'm going to hand Mycroft over to Lestrade."

"You can't do that." Sherlock said, watching his flatmate with a frown.

"Yes I can." John replied as he boiled the kettle in the kitchen.

"No, really, you can't. You'd be taken off to a secure Secret Service prison." Sherlock said, walking into the kitchen, "Mycroft won't be found out. He can cover it up easily."

"Then what do we do? Just because he's a serial killer doesn't mean that he's above the law." John replied.

"Your brother is a serial killer?" Lestrade said from the doorway, watching the two of them with a frown, "You've got a lot of explaining to do, Sherlock."

"I thought you'd gone?" John said as he whirled around in surprise.

"Nice detective trick, Lestrade." Sherlock muttered, "You used the sound of the kettle boiling to hide your footsteps."

"You can't tell anyone about this." John said, looking from Sherlock to Lestrade.

"I'm a cop, John. I can't hide a suspect!" Lestrade shouted, running a hand through his hair, "You need to explain everything, right now, Sherlock."


	4. Chapter 4

"Of all the things that I expected you to tell me, Mycroft being an actual serial killer was not one of them." Lestrade admitted from where he sat on the sofa in the living room of 221B. He'd insisted that Sherlock justify his comments to John, but hadn't expected there to be actual proof behind them.

"What are you going to do? Can you arrest him or is he protected by his job?" John asked curiously, looking between Sherlock and Lestrade.

"He's not protected. As soon as MI6 hear about this, he'll have an unfortunate accident or will go missing." Sherlock replied, relaxing into his chair and placing his hands together beneath his chin, "He won't ever be tried publicly though."

"I may be able to bend rules for you at crime scenes, Sherlock, but this is different. An innocent woman has died and justice must be done." Lestrade sighed, "I;m going to have to report this and take him in."

Sherlock nodded, "I know, Lestrade. Will you give us a head start? Say 24 hours?" he asked.

"Sherlock..." Lestrade sighed, running a hand over his tired eyes, "Yes, 24 hours, but not a moment longer."

"Come, John. We must get to Mycroft before he does anything stupid." Sherlock said, getting to his feet and pulling on his Belstaff.

John stood up and pulled on his own coat, following Sherlock down the stairs and out the door onto Baker Street. Within minutes, they were in a cab and on the way to the Diogenes Club.

* * *

"You're about to do something stupid again, aren't you?" Sherlock snarled as he stormed into Mycroft's private room at the Diogenes Club. He was sat in his favourite armchair beside the large fireplace, sipping a whiskey from an ornate glass.

"I am merely considering my options." Mycroft replied calmly, swirling the amber liquid carefully, "This latest killing was a mistake, as you can probably tell by the amount of evidence left at the scene."

"You won't get off a murder charge with the sympathy act, Mycroft." John said, sitting down opposite the elder Holmes while Sherlock paced the room.

"I have no intention of 'getting off', as you put it." Mycroft replied, "This time I made mistakes, I didn't think it through and now both of you will suffer for it. I apologize to you both."

"What have you done?" Sherlock demanded, frustration clear on his face.

"I have informed my superiors of my actions and they will be arriving shortly to discuss the matter privately within MI6." Mycroft said, sipping his drink.

"Are you completely mad? That's a death sentence!" Sherlock shouted.

"I can't go to prison, Sherlock. Can you imagine it? The people, the noise..." Mycroft replied with a shudder, "Besides, I know too much to be allowed mere prison as a punishment."

There was a bang as the door opened and a group of agents arrived to escort Mycroft to MI6.

"Time to go." Mycroft sighed, getting to his feet and pulling on his coat. He hooked his umbrella over his arm and slowly walked out of the room.

"I demand that you take John Watson and myself, we will be speaking for Mycroft." Sherlock declared.

The agents looked at each other and then shrugged, pulling the two of them along too.


	5. Chapter 5

"How does us being thrown into a cell in MI6 help Mycroft?" John asked as he sat opposite Sherlock in the windowless cell.

"It doesn't. I'm hoping that they'll let us speak for him." Sherlock replied, "If we're here and keep making a nuisance of ourselves, they're bound to hear us out, if only to get us out of the building."

"Do you know what you're going to say when you speak for him?" John asked.

"Absolutely no idea." Sherlock admitted.

John chuckled a little, "Well, that's reassuring."

* * *

"Frankly I'm surprised at you, Mycroft Holmes. After what happened to your other brother, I would have thought that you would be more careful not to cross us." the head of MI6 said as she looked down at the crime scene photographs on the desk in front of her.

"Other brother? There's three of you?" John said in surprise before Sherlock shushed him. They'd been allowed to sit in at the back of Mycroft's meeting with the MI6 heads of departments. It was clear that the secret service saw Mycroft as a vital asset and were reluctant to remove him from his post in response to his actions.

"I have no excuse. It was a moment of madness, a fit of peak." Mycroft replied, looking at each one of his colleagues, "I apologize for my actions and I accept any punishment that you deem as fitting."

"It will be a shame to lose you, Mycroft. No replacement will ever compare." the MI6 chief said with a sigh, "Prepare yourself for a mission. I think it's time that you returned to the field."

"Yes, Ma'am." Mycroft replied, getting to his feet as the meeting came to a close.

"You haven't even heard what I have to say about the matter!" Sherlock protested, getting to his feet.

"There is nothing that you can say to make the situation any better for your brother, Mr Holmes." said one of the heads of department as they all filed out of the room, leaving the two brothers and John alone.

* * *

"It looks as though I'm going to be heading eastwards." Mycroft said, lighting his cigarette as he stood beside Sherlock on the roof terrace of the MI6 building.

"A mission requiring your personal attention?" Sherlock murmured, glancing up at his brother as he took a drag on his own cigarette.

"Yes, I am told that the Russians need some assistance." Mycroft replied, blowing out some smoke and looking out across the London skyline.

"Assistance for how long?" Sherlock asked, flicking off some ash from the end of his cigarette.

"Approximately three months." Mycroft replied, his voice suddenly much more soft.

"Three months is longer than I expected." Sherlock admitted.

"Me too. I think that they may be exaggerating in an attempt to give me peace of mind." Mycroft agreed with a nod.

"There's an east wind coming, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, but a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared." Sherlock said, his voice cold and detached.

"Feeling poetic, Sherlock?" Mycroft teased gently.

"Feeling sentimental, brother?" Sherlock retorted, watching Mycroft.

"Something like that." Mycroft replied with a nod, offering Sherlock his hand, "I know that we are not ones for sentiment, brother, but I want you to know that I have always had your best interests at heart."

"Oh god, don't get all sappy, that's the last thing that we need." Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes, although he did take Mycroft's hand and give it a firm shake.

"Time for us to go then, Sherlock." John sighed, standing awkwardly in the doorway that led inside.

"Look after my brother, John." Mycroft said, nodding to John and not leaving his position on the roof terrace.

"I will." John replied, nodding to Mycroft before he returned inside.

"Three months." Sherlock murmured, stubbing out his cigarette.

"Three months." Mycroft replied quietly, watching Sherlock walk back into the building. He sighed and turned to lean on the barrier, finishing his cigarette as he looked over the city that he had spent his whole career protecting.


End file.
